Since 2007, AMISOM, the African Union (AU) mission in Somalia, has been tasked with combating Al-Shabaab, an extremist Islamist militant group with ties to Al-Qaeda. Many hundreds of soldiers have died among troops totaling 21,500 from several different countries, with Burundi having the second largest troops after Uganda.

In December 2018, the AU's Peace and Security Council decided to withdraw 1,000 of their 5,400 Burundian soldiers from Somalia by late February 2019, as part of the progressivereduction of AMISOM military decided by the United Nations Security Council in July 2018. UN resolution 2431 extended AMISOM’s mandate but determined to reduce troop numbers and eventually hand over the conflict to Somali forces by December 2021.

“Ambassador Basile Ikouébé, Representantive of @_AfricanUnion in Burundi was summoned to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The Assistant to the Minister Ambassador Bernard NTAHIRAJA @BNtahiraja reiterated to him a message already communicated to the African Union regarding the Burundian government’s concerns

During the Somali president Mohamed Abdullahi Mohamed's visit to Burundi in mid-February, both presidents called for a summit in a joint communique to review the issue. Nevertheless, on February 21 and 23, 400 Burundian soldiers returned home, although the Burundian government refused to proceed with withdrawing the remaining 600, originally planned to be completed by February 26.

On February 28, Burundi’s government eventually relented, lacking support or leverage on the issue, and that the remaining soldiers would return in early March, according to high-level anonymous sources of AFP, cited by TV5Monde.

28 February is the deadline of AMISOM to have repatriated 1000 Burundian troops on a peacekeeping mission in Somalia. According to sources in Somalia, 600 remaining troops will return from the beginning of March, without further details

Why does Burundi object to AMISOM's troop reduction?

Burundi's ongoing political and economic crisis has led to serious budget shortfalls related to sanctions, exacerbated poverty, trade disruption and large refugeemovements. Last year, the UN Security Council expressed concern for the humanitarian situation — citing 3.6 million people in need of assistance in Burundi.

Funding from international peacekeeping missions is, therefore, a significant source of foreign currency for the embattled government. Jeune Afrique reported the AU transfers 16 million euros every 3 months to Burundi’s Central Bank.

The EU – a major funder of AMISOM – tried in 2017 to avoid passing the funds for soldiers’ salaries and equipment directly via the government, which takes a percentage ostensibly for equipment and other expenditure. This led to a standoff until an agreement was reached, although RFI reported soldiers accusing the government of appropriation.

Observers such as anti-corruption campaigner Gabriel Rufyiri see a connection between the request for Burundi to reduce its troops and its ongoing tensions with the EU, and discontent from East African Community (EAC) and AU politicians, particularly Uganda, over the failure of mediated dialogue.

This dialogue intended to resolve the grinding political crisis surrounding Nkurunziza’s controversial third term in 2015, and subsequent constitutional changes. Burundi’s government intransigence is seen as heavily responsible — along with weak international engagement — for the dialogue struggling to get started. Burundi did not even attend the last round in late 2018.

Since 2015, many organizations, including the UN Commission of Inquiry, Human Rights Watch, or APRODH, documented systematic rights abuses — especially against the opposition — clampdowns on media and nongovernmental groups and clashes with rebel groups. Officials reject reports as manipulated.

In response, the EU and other international partners implemented sanctions and cut direct aid to the government — which it heavily relied on — seeking to redirect it to NGOs on the ground. These organizations have found themselves under increased government control and pressure. In particular, new rules in late 2018 on financing and ethnic quotas prompted some, like Handicap International, to leave the country.

Future security

The troops’ return raises serious questions about security both in Somalia and in Burundi.

First, a troop reduction may spark potential problems for Burundi's military. Dangerous peacekeeping missions are better paid and more attractive as opportunities for soldiers. Many could be discontented with losing the AMISOM prospect, which could aggravate politicized divisions within the army originating in Burundi's civil war.

Second, critics point to an apparent contradiction in Burundi's government sending troops to improve foreign citizens’ safety while the human rights situation at home has deteriorated, with arbitrary arrests, torture and killings. Burundian blogger Apollinaire Nkurunziza reported that on the ground in Somalia, however, locals have shown appreciation for Burundian troops.

Controversy occurred, however, over AMISOM soldiers accused of killing civilians.

This episode seems to reflect ongoing tensions with EU and EAC governments over Burundi’s crisis. Regional governments are not united either, and the government has repeatedly faced off with the EU, AU, and International Criminal Court, among others, over rights abuses and dialogue with opponents. The CNARED Burundian opposition coalition in exile has also suffered further divisions.

More standoffs could occur, then, as the political-economic crisis continues – with hundreds of thousands still in underfunded refugee camps and proxy conflicts in eastern DRC – and new elections in 2020 are fast approaching.

This article was originally written by Leung Hoi Ching and published in Chinese on Hong Kong based citizen media, the Stand News on February 15, 2018. The following trimmed English version is translated by Zhao Yunlin.

On February 9, students at the University of Toronto's Scarborough Campus elected Chemi Lhamo, a 22-year-old student of Tibetan origin, as their student council president.

Just days after the election results were announced, thousands of mainland Chinese overseas students signed an online petition of protest, accusing Lhamo of having close associations with pro-Tibet independence organizations. They demanded the school disqualify her from the elected position.

Demeaning comments from overseas mainland Chinese students

Lhamo’s personal social account was flooded with demeaning comments and veiled threats of violence from overseas students who appeared to be from mainland China. As her story began to make headlines in international media outlets, students from Hong Kong and Taiwan fired back in defense Lhamo's defense.

In a phone interview with Stand News, Chemi Lhamo said she believed that the incident was mobilized by organizations associated with Chinese government, an accusation that Chinese officials have denied.

Before this election, I had already been elected as vice-president of the student council for eight whole months and nothing ever happened. However, after all these sudden events, you cannot help but think that there is an organization manipulating these events behind the scenes. It’s really funny how I’ve been serving as a vice-president for so long, how I’ve organized many events and never held back from expressing my ideals, but nobody has ever asked me about my political opinions.

She also said that her fellow students from mainland China began to behave strangely. One of Lhamo’s classmates from mainland China spontaneously asked her, via mobile message, to draft a statement regarding Tibetan independence. She also received phone calls playing “red songs” (propaganda songs praising the Chinese Communist Party). Lhamo could not understand these songs, as she does not speak Mandarin Chinese.

Alongside the joint attacks and the comments on the internet, a group of students went to the student council office to demand that the election results be reconsidered. The campus student council has now temporarily closed its conference room, for safety reasons.

Chemi Lhamo has been a student activist for some years. She is an active member of the Tibetan community in Toronto and once joined a protest outside the university's Confucius Institute, the local branch of a global network of Chinese cultural institutions that are sponsored by the Chinese government and intended to promote China's soft power overseas. In recent years, she has also exchanged views with social activists from Hong Kong and Taiwan on topics related to freedom of speech, self-determination, democracy and related topics at public events.

Lhamo has never been afraid to speak up or show her Tibetan identity – she wears a Chuba, the traditional Tibetan dress, every Wednesday. Until the election, she had never perceived any animosity from her Chinese classmates. This is what led her to worry that this barrage of harassment was instigated by Chinese authorities.

From stateless refugee to student council president

Before immigrating to Canada at 11 years of age, Chemi Lhamo was a stateless refugee residing in India. Her grandparents were forced into exile along with the Dalai Lama in 1959. Within these rigid borders, no matter where she and her family went, they were looked down upon.

Every time someone asks me: ‘Where are you from?’ I always end up struggling to answer – I sometimes say that I’m from India, but I was denied citizenship status there; sometimes I say that I’m from Tibet, but when they ask me how Tibet is like, I really don’t know how to answer, because the Chinese embassy won’t even issue me a visa to go to Tibet. But it’s this experience of being viewed as an outsider that has made me understand my people’s culture better: the Tibetan culture.

Lhamo recounted that when she had just immigrated to Canada, a new kid from Tibet unexpectedly came to class. She was excited and happy to have found someone from her own land to become friends with, and she knew that he could speak the Tibetan language. However, frowning at her, he told her: “How about we don’t speak Tibetan? I can speak English.”

I don’t know if he was either ashamed or had some kind of guilt. I really don’t know. But it was then when I realized that some young Tibetans don’t want to speak their own language as if they were being pressured to speak another language.

At the time, Lhamo was only 12 years old. Feeling insecure about her identity, she convinced her parents to move back to a neighborhood with a Tibetan community. From then on, she learned more about Tibetan language, culture and Buddhism and became an activist.

Tibetan values, such as be considerate, be respectful to the elderly, ignorance as the root for negativity and etc., has give me a lot of strength. And the more I understand my culture, the more confident I feel.

This strength and confidence, she says, has enabled her to speak up as an immigrant and a Tibetan:

Being an immigrant is very difficult, but this struggle is what makes me who I am. Today, I speak about the Tibetan people loud and clear with pride thanks to the strength that my identity as a Tibetan gives me.

During the student council election, I often emphasize the need for the marginalized to have their own representation during the student council elections. We need representation so that our rights be upheld.

Suffering will end

For Lhamo, the ideal world is one without borders or boundaries — Tibetan independence and autonomy is not the real issue at stake.

My vision for Tibet is the same vision that I have for the whole world: I wish for Tibetan people to enjoy the same rights as Canadians, namely freedom to express themselves, freedom of belief, freedom to avoid political oppression.

I don’t only wish for Tibetan people to enjoy these rights, I also wish that people from Hong Kong and Taiwan, Eastern Turks, the 60 million refugees around the world and for everyone to enjoy these rights.

Many people in Hong Kong believe that China has become more authoritarian in recent years, adopting a more heavy-handed policy towards political dissidents and ethnic minorities. Even in Hong Kong, the space for freedom of speech and association has diminished.

Chemi Lhamo is familiar with the political challenges faced in Hong Kong after the 2014 Umbrella movement but she shared her optimism with Hong Kong people and urged them not to give up:

I learned a concept from the Tibetan culture known as impermanence: everything has an end and I believe that all suffering will also end…I hope that one day I’ll be able to go to Tibet wearing my Chuba.

Since January 23, Caribbean nations have been engaged in decisive international diplomacy regarding Venezuela’s political impasse, most recently as co-architects of the “Montevideo Mechanism”, the four-part solution to the Venezuelan crisis proposed by Mexico, Uruguay and CARICOM at last week's meeting in Uruguay.

Trinidad, the larger of the two islands forming the nation of Trinidad and Tobago, is located just 11km north of the Venezuelan mainland. As the political and economic situation in Venezuela has worsened, the island has experienced a large influx of Venezuelans fleeing hardship and violence. Some arrive clandestinely via Trinidad’s southern coast, others through the country’s ports. Some estimates suggest that the country has taken in around 60,000 migrants, a significant figure for a country of 1.3 million inhabitants.

Trinidad and Tobago's decision to repatriate 82 Venezuelans in April 2018 drew harsh criticism from the UNHRC, which called the move a “forced deportation” that was in breach of international law. With the world’s attention currently on the political impasse in Venezuela, the country’s lack of a cohesive approach to migration is attracting international scrutiny.

Trinidadian journalist Wesley Gibbings has suggested that legislation (or lack thereof) wasn't the only fly in the ointment, also noting on Twitter that:

No doubt, some of the xenophobia being exhibited in #Trinidad stems from the fact that some continued to assert that #Venezuela‘s humanitarian crisis had been externally-generated propaganda and not lived experience.

The rest of the region

Trinidad and Tobago and Venezuela have long enjoyed close diplomatic relations. An oil and gas producer, the nation benefited from the late Venezuela president Hugo Chávez’s push for higher oil prices, and last year signed a major gas deal with Chávez’s embattled successor, Nicólas Maduro, that some critics have suggested may be a factor in the government's hesitation to acknowledge the Venezuelan situation as a humanitarian crisis.

But while the country is feeling the heat due to its proximity to Venezuela, the state of affairs in other Caribbean nations is not very different.

According to a paper co-authored by Rochelle Nakhid, the regional coordinator with the Living Water Community for UNHCR, among Commonwealth Caribbean countries, “only Belize has legislation for refugees, while Jamaica and Trinidad and Tobago have a refugee policy but no legislation.” Nakhid is optimistic, though, that the drafting process to incorporate international migration protocols is “being undertaken in a commendably participatory way” with key stakeholders, including the Immigration Division.

Meanwhile, refugees are protesting Trinidad and Tobago's failure to live up to its international obligations around migration issues, while diplomats emphasise the need for a proper structure to be put in place.

Pressure has increased in recent days to release Bahraini refugee Hakeem al-Araibi from a Thai jail. The former national football player was arrested in Bangkok on 27 November 2018 after Australia’s Department of Home Affairs controversially alerted Thailand about an Interpol Red Notice for his arrest. Hakeem was visiting Thailand for his honeymoon.

Hakeem had fled from Bahrain in 2014. He was sentenced to ten years in his absence for alleged vandalism of a police station. He strongly rejects the accusation. He argues that he has been targeted for his criticism of Sheikh Salman bin Ebrahim al-Khalifa, the president of the Asian Football Confederation and a member of the Bahraini royal family. He also claims that Bahraini authorities tortured him in 2012 following the Arab Spring protests.

After seeking asylum in Australia he was granted a permanent protection visa and is awaiting the result of a citizenship application. He now plays for Pascoe Vale Football Club in Melbourne. They have worked tirelessly for his freedom. This tweet is typical of their efforts:

There have been a couple of very positive developments this week, which marks two months since his detention. The Australian Prime Minister Scott Morrison revealed that he has written to his Thai counterpart seeking al-Araibi’s release and asking that his extradition not take place.

This followed many calls for the Australian government to take a bigger role in the case. A week earlier @popcoin tweeted:

PM of Australia Morrison rushes out to have a photograph with tennis player Ash Barty but I have not heard one word of support from him for HAKEEM, the soccer player innocent in jail in Thailand about to be handed over to his torturers in Bahrain. Australia caused it.

Secondly, Craig Foster, former captain of the Australian Socceroos team, took the campaign to free Hakeem to the FIFA’s headquarters in Zurich and reported a promising response:

Delighted to appraise the @FIFPro Board of the latest regarding #SaveHakeem and to reiterate the absolute importance of the playing profession standing as one when a colleague is threatened. Many thanks for your support https://t.co/WnqmNew4Ev

This was not without irony as Australians played a major role in the rescue of the 12 schoolboy soccer players and their coach from a cave near Chang Rai. In fact, two were named joint Australians of the Year 2019.

Another Twitter user, @Tibby, summed up a common sentiment down under:

Australia just gave our highest award to 2 divers for risking their lives to rescue 12 Thai boys from underground caves. We know where Hakeem is. He just needs a one way plane ticket. Thailand, let our boy come home. You up for the task @ScottMorrisonMP? #SaveHakeem

Human Rights Watch has produced a campaign video for its social media sites:

There has been considerable activity on social media especially the #Save Hakeem and #FreeHakeem hashtags. There is also an Amnesty International Australia petition.

Sarah Joseph, Director of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law at Monash University, explained the intricacies of the human rights situation at The Conversation:

…he was detained under an Interpol red notice issued pursuant to a request from Bahrain. This notice breached Interpol’s own rules as it was issued against a refugee at the request of the country he had fled.

…If he is sent back to Bahrain, Thailand will refouler a refugee – that is, return him to the state from which he fled persecution, a grave breach of human rights. There are legitimate fears that he faces torture upon return to Bahrain.

]]>https://globalvoices.org/2019/02/01/pressure-mounts-for-thailand-to-free-melbourne-based-bahraini-refugee-hakeem-al-araibi/feed/0Why are Armenian displaced persons still living in a hotel, 30 years after fleeing Azerbaijan?https://globalvoices.org/2019/01/28/why-are-armenian-displaced-persons-still-living-in-a-hotel-30-years-after-fleeing-azerbaijan/
https://globalvoices.org/2019/01/28/why-are-armenian-displaced-persons-still-living-in-a-hotel-30-years-after-fleeing-azerbaijan/#respondMon, 28 Jan 2019 05:44:17 +0000https://globalvoices.org/?p=664365

The Naira hotel in Yerevan is a home to refugees from Azerbaijan. Photo taken from Chai-Khana.org. Used with permission.

The number 29 on the sign should be changed to 30, as 30 years have now passed since 64 refugee families first moved into Hotel Nairi in Yerevan.

Today, the hotel is home to three generations, including the grandchildren and the children of the people who were forced to flee Azerbaijan in the 1980s, during the period leading up to the Karabakh conflict. Despite the wait, they have not lost hope that one day they will be given houses in Armenia.

For years, many of their calls and written pleas for help have fallen on deaf ears. Even those who have received answers from officials got nothing but promises.

After thirty years of living in 11-square-meter “apartments” in a building notable for its poor infrastructure, some families are demanding new living quarters from the state. But they fear in doing so they risk losing the rooms they have at Hotel Nairi.

A tent in Tal Al Rumman, Jordan, where an elderly woman and her children used to live. Living conditions in Jordan have become dire for many. Photo by Farrah Matalka, June 2018, used with permission.

Until 2010, reports assessing poverty in Jordan were done regularly every two to three years by the Department of Statistics (DoS). A 2010 report on poverty issued by the Jordanian government, showed that 14 percent of the population lived under the poverty line at an annual 813 Jordanian dinars ($1,144 USD) per individual, showing a rise of 1 percent since 2008.

Since then, however, poverty statistics in Jordan have been completely absent due to what critics are calling “a stalling technique”.

In the latest House discussions regarding the controversial Income Tax law, the Lower House’s Economy and Investment Committee called for the need to provide all statistics, data and studies on the issue. No figures, neither rough nor accurate, were provided, and the law passed without determining a scientifically-studied poverty line.

The law, which was already a sensitive topic before the Lower House brought up poverty statistics, is part of a series of measures instituted since Amman secured a three-year credit line of 723 million US dollars from the International Monetary Fund in 2016.

That loan, intended to support economic and financial reform, has the long-term objective of reducing Jordan's public debt from about 94 percent of gross domestic product (GDP) to 77 percent by 2021.

Moreover, the United States reduced its funding to UNRWA by 350 million USD, putting 711 schools and 526,000 Palestinian students in Jordan at risk.

Activist and community activist Sarhan Taamari, who lives in the impoverished Mamouneyeh neighborhood in Maan, 218 kilometers southwest of the capital Amman, said:

The government will try and pin this on the Syrian crisis, but the truth is that billions of dollars have been donated by the international community, donations that could have covered refugees’ living costs for more than ten years.

Privatizing Jordan

Taamari stated that “the real reason behind a collapsing GDP” is the 2006 IMF deal. In the deal, Jordan agreed to sell key state companies to foreign investors.

Now, almost all critical services and natural resource productions are foreign-owned. The water company, the Total gas station, and one of the three telecommunications companies are French, while the Potash and Phosphate mines are almost all privatized and foreign-owned.

Moreover, the World Bank plays a critical role in Jordan's energy sector, and over 1 billion US dollars on investments in power and energy come from the private sector.

Additionally, Jordanian businessmen have been selling their shares in state companies, something that the government has been “trying to conceal”, according to Taamari. In a country whose public debt has risen to 96 percent of its GDP, frustrated individuals have been trying to help as many people as their limited-resources allow.

In July 2018, when an offensive by the Syrian government displaced 40,000 Syrians at Jordan's border, Jordanians lent a hand despite the government's insistence on closing the borders.

Bringing back joy amid rising frustration

In 2018, Farrah Matalka, a graduate in social economics, launched Bringing Joy By Giving Joy, an independent campaign to help distribute 600 food parcels monthly and renovate houses. Unaffiliated with the government or privately-run organizations, Matalka relies solely on donations from individuals via her Instagram account. She posts images and videos of dilapidated houses and areas and asks followers for donations.

Other than monthly parcels, the campaign takes on short-term projects. She has raised funds for the operation and recovery fees of child victims of fires, as well as the distribution of school essentials and winter clothing.

Farrah Matalka launched Bring Joy By Giving Joy, a charity initiative that fills the gap where the Jordanian government has been unresponsive. Seen here with a new trailer for a family in need.

Eissa Muhamad, from Niger, has been stranded at the Bole International Airport in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, for two months now. Photo by Eissa Muhamad, used with permission.

Eissa Muhamad, from Niger, says he has been stranded in the transit section of Bole International Airport in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, for more than two months, starting on November 6, 2018. Muhamad, 24, was deported from Israel where he lived for eight years as a migrant.

I met Muhamad on December 12, 2018, at Bole International Airport while in transit in Addis Ababa.

Muhamad tells me he has been deported twice from Israel in 2018. When he returned to Niger the first time, Muhamad's Israeli travel documents were still valid, so he turned around and booked another flight back to Israel. When he arrived in Israel, authorities confiscated his travel documents and deported him again back to Niger. When Muhamad returned to Niger the second time, authorities requested proof of citizenship but he failed to produce valid documents, either Israeli or Nigerien, to support his citizenship.

Muhamad remained in Nigerien custody for eight days before being deported back to Israel via Ethiopia on an Ethiopian Airlines flight. When he arrived at Bole International Airport in Ethiopia, Ethiopian authorities, in collaboration with the Israeli government, prevented him from boarding his connecting flight to Israel. They informed him that Israel was not willing to accept him, and since then, he has been stranded inside the airport, stuck between Niger and Israel.

I slept on the chairs, sometimes I slept in the mosque, I didn’t take [a] shower for two months because [the] airport [has] no place for a shower, I only wash my face, my hands and my legs, that’s all.

Muhamad has attempted to contact the Niger embassy in Addis Ababa, but because he was not able to provide valid documents to prove his Niger citizenship, Muhamad says they were unable to assist him.

As of 2018, Israel currently has34,000 African migrantswho undertook perilous journeys to Israel in search of a better life. But Israel claims many are economic migrants who have put a strain on the economy. Opting to stay meant jail time and significantly fewer resettlement options.

Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and the right-wing Likud party remain focused on targeting those deemed “infiltrators.”Israel Democracy Institutestudy says 66 percent of Israelis support government policies to deport African immigrants.

Muhamad claims that he was legally living in Israel and worked in a factory, and told me the government took away his residency status and threw him out of the country.

Ethiopian authorities have not arrested Muhamad and have provided meals for him while staying at the airport. Technically, Ethiopia is a signatory to the1951 Conventionrelating to the Status of Refugees and the 1967 Protocol as well as the 1969 Organization of African Unity (OAU) Convention Governing the Specific Aspects of Refugee Problems in Africa, and nearly all refugees entering Ethiopia are granted asylum on a prima facie basis, but Muhamad told me he is not willing to apply for asylum in Ethiopia.

In this video interview, Muhamad explains to me what it has been like to stay trapped at the airport in Addis Ababa without a clear idea of the future:

Arsal Camp in Lebanon battered by snow during “Norma” storm, January 6, 2019. A widely shared photo on social media, re-used with permission.

Syrian refugees in Lebanon face floods and freezing temperatures amidst a series of storms called “Norma” that hit on January 6, 2019. It brought five days of high levels of rain on the Lebanese coast and snow on Mount Lebanon and the Bekaa Valley. The storm caused widespread damage in Lebanon, flooding highways and closing schools for two days in some regions of the country.

Syrian refugees had to battle the storm in makeshift informal camps, as Lebanese authorities do not allow for permanent structures to be built. According to a U.N. Refugee Agency (UNHCR) report published on January 9, “70,000 refugees living in around 850 informal settlements could be at risk of either flooding, heavy snow or extreme cold”.

Another UNHCR article stated that more than 11,300 refugees had been affected: settlements in Dalhamiya in the Bekaa Valley have been completely flooded.

One refugee, Juriya Ramadan, told the UNHCR:

People are sick. Everywhere there is water. We cannot sleep at night. It has been three days like this. All night we sit and watch the kids and we cannot do anything for them. Their situation is very bad.

Sixty-year-old refugee Amina al Darak said:

We’ve never experienced such a situation before. The mattresses and the duvets got wet. We didn’t sleep all night. I had to put blankets on wooden boards and lie there. I can’t even make myself a cup of tea because of the flooding.

According to the Associated Press, the refugee settlement in Bar Elias in the Bekaa Valley, near Lebanon's longest river, the Litani, was flooded during the storm. It is home to approximately 420 refugees, including 100 children.

The AP also reported that a Syrian girl lost her life after she drowned in an overflowing river north of Lebanon.

Additionally, the Lebanese Red Cross said that 200 people were forced to evacuate from their camp on Lebanon's northern border with Syria after a local river overflowed.

The camp of Arsal in the Anti-Lebanon Mountains received heavy snow and subsequent damage, and videos of the camp were widely shared on social media:

Some Syrians activists and Twitter users lamented the poor living conditions, adding that Syrian refugees are increasingly stuck between a rock and a hard place. In other words, between poor living conditions in Lebanon, and serious security risks in an Assad-controlled Syria if they return.

Do you know why people are still here?
The answer is because Assad is still in his position.

Some Syrian refugees denounce the negligence of local authority in the Bekaa. For example, Hussam Mansour told Al Jazeera that he had called the local municipality of Ghazze in the Bekaa many times to raise the ground levels of the tents, to no avail.

Syrian refugees in Lebanon will have to face a new storm that will bring wind gusts of over 100 Km/h and 5 meters waves. The storm, named Miriam, will peak on Tuesday, January 15.

UNCHR stated that emergency stocks and sanitation supplies were replenished in anticipation of the new storms.

Despite the difficulties endured by Syrian refugees throughout the country, Lebanese President Michel Aoun said that “the refugee crisis still weighs [on Lebanon] economically and socially and on security” and that refugees should return to Syria so that they could live “with dignity.”

This is in line with the anti-refugee rhetoric taken by his party, the Free Patriotic Movement (FPM) over the years, and notably by his son-in-law and foreign minister, Gebran Bassil, who also heads the FPM.

Aoun, an ally of the pro-Assad militant group Hezbollah, is pushing the international community to return Syrian refugees back to so-called ‘safe areas’ in Syria. Some ministers in the Lebanese government denounced the push and claim that dozens of refugees who returned were killed.

Stories of returned refugees facing imprisonment, forced conscription or death have been floating around anti-Assad Syrian circles, particularly in the past couple of years.

Wessal al Mustafa, a refugee in Lebanon, told Aljazeera that “there is nothing to return to.”

Another refugee, 25-year-old Sleiman Ahmad, told the Independent: “If I go back, I would be conscripted or arrested, [..] I have a small daughter. What would happen to her?”

Across sub-Saharan Africa, 2018 has seen epic change and transformation. Pictured, a sign that reads “Ipo Nafasi,” meaning “There's room” in Swahili. Is there room for more change and transformation in 2019? Photo by Pernille Bærendtsen, used with permission.

2018 has been a year of epic change and transformation across sub-Saharan Africa.

From long-time leaders stepping down to citizens rising up, a cautious hope surges alongside the continuous struggle. These moments are often marked with humor, grace and wit as citizens across the continent speak out through social media and on the streets.

We asked our Global Voices sub-Saharan Africa team to tell us their favorite stories to work on this year. Ranging from collaborative posts to personal reflections on identity and culture, 2018 ushered in difficult questions that sparked dialogue and debate on identity, leadership, power, women's issues, and human rights.

Identity, leadership and power

After months of pressure on the ruling administrations in South Africa and Ethiopia, heads of state Jacob Zuma and Hailemariam Desalegn resigned. Zuma and Desalegn’s falls from grace, though brought about by differing circumstances, ignited hope of democratic change in many African countries with high-handed rulers.

At a press conference on October 29, Paul Makonda, the regional commissioner of Dar es Salaam, called on citizens to hand over names of homosexuals. Makonda said he and his team would “scrutinize social media” to “hunt down gay people and those who defend them”, while he also warned against the consumption of pornography. This has left Tanzania's LGBTQ community in fear. The Tanzanian government suddenly distanced itself from Makonda's campaign, issuing an official statement clarifying its commitment to human rights.

Africa’s landscape of online free speech and dissent is gradually, but consistently, being tightened. In legal and economic terms, the cost of speaking out is rapidly rising across the continent. While most governments are considered democratic, many operate much closer dictatorships — and they appear to be asserting more control over digital space with each passing day.

Impersonation is a growing problem on Nigerian Twitter with some accounts set up using politicians’ names to promote propaganda while others snag celebrity names as part of marketing fraud schemes. Often, the differences are slight and difficult to detect for the unsuspecting user.

When Egyptian Mohammed Salah won the 2017 African Footballer of the Year, the internet went into an uproar. Why? Some Africans did not think Salah was ‘African’ enough to have earned the title. This is not the first time — and probably won't be the last — that a North African's “Africanness” was questioned. Why are Africans from north of the Sahara sometimes not considered definitively “African”?

When I first saw the memes on my Twitter feed, I smiled. Not only had France won the 2018 World Cup, but most of the African continent shared their joy and made this amazing sporting feat a little bit theirs as well. As a citizen of both Madagascar and France, this was my ‘having my cake and eating it too’ moment.

Women and youth rights

South Sudanese singer Nyaruach calls out a fictitious lover for being a “boring man with no plan” in the hit song “Gatluak” shared widely since its release in June 2018. With fierce feminist messaging, Nyaruach's playful song reclaims a woman's dignity after getting burned in love. It also calls attention to the plight of sexual violence endured by women from South Sudan.

In October 2017, 16-year-old Faiza Mohamed Abdi was shot in the pelvic area for declining the sexual advances of her attacker in the port town of Bosaso, Somalia. Unfortunately, Faiza is not alone. Fiican, a 45-year-old single mother and Buulo Ba'alay IDP camp resident, was raped in front of her children.

December 14, 2018, was a historic day for many Mozambicans: for the first time in the country's civil aviation history, an airplane was operated solely by women. The crew for flight TM112/3, which traveled between the capital, Maputo, and Manica — an air distance of 442 miles — was captain Admira António, co-pilot Elsa Balate, cabin chief Maria da Luz Aurélio, and flight attendant Débora Madeleine.

Liberian students at the University of Liberia protested a tuition increase they say they simply couldn't afford, leading to low student enrollment this year with only about 11,000 registered students out of approximately 20,000. Faced with mounting pressure, President George Weah surprisingly declared tuition-free university during a visit to the main campus in late October 2018.

Meet “You just killed me,” the viral meme challenge sweeping Angola where youth share images pretending to be dead under various objects: cement blocks, fridges, cookers, or cabinets — and usually accompanied by references to social problems faced in Angola.

A man named Gatluak is probably feeling a bit embarrassed as South Sudanese singer Nyaruach calls him out for being a “boring man with no plan” in a hit song shared widely since its release in June 2018. Or, rather several Gatluaks — the name is common in South Sudan and “all know a Gatluak [who behaves this way]”, Nyaruach says.

With fierce feminist messaging, Nyaruach's playful song reclaims a woman's dignity after getting burned in love. It also reminds the world that vibrant music and art emerge out of Kakuma Refugee Camp in northern Kenya, one of the largest refugee camps in the region.

Nyaruach, a single mother of two who lives in Kakuma, told Global Voices during a Skype interview:

South Sudanese men fail women with the wrong kind of love. So, my message is to the young girls of the new generation … Love is killing the new generation.

The catchy song and music video, which features some of Nyaruach's Kakuma co-residents, released in November 2018, caught the world's attention for its hypnotic Afro-beats and bold lyrics.

Gatluak bought her cold drinks, they went on long walks, and then ghosted her! “You refuse to pick my phone after you get what you want. You are such a bastard guy, I just want to say goodbye! May God bless you where you are. You boring man — with no plan. With no plan!” sings Nyaruach.

“Gatluak” is the second release on the album NAATH (“humans” in Nuer) produced by Nyaruach and her brother Emmanuel Jal, a hip-hop artist who gained notoriety after his autobiography, “War Child: A Child Soldier's Story”, was published in 2009. As children, the siblings were forced apart through extreme circumstances.

The two draw on Nuer traditional folk and love songs and interlace them with addictive dance beats. “We can’t forget our culture”, Nyaruach said. “We have to remind the new generation about the past — and music makes people happy.”

Nyaruach and Jal named the album NAATH after the “glorious Kingdom of Kush” of the Nile as an antidote to images of war and poverty that have characterized South Sudan.

A long road to music

Nyaruach was born in 1983 in Tonj, Sudan and separated from her family at the age of four when her mother died. Her brother Jal was taken as a child by the Sudan People’s Liberation Army and forced to fight. He was then taken to Kenya at the age of 11 with the help of a British aid worker who was married to then-senior SPLA commander Riek Machar.There he discovered hip-hop, which he used to encourage peace.

Nyaruach's life took a different turn. She spent several tumultuous years with relatives and ran away from an abusive father at the age of 10, surviving several arduous escapes from Sudan, first to Ethiopia and later, to Kenya.

South Sudan gained independence from Sudan in July 2011, after a 22-year long civil war (1983-2005). The peace did not last long despite major investments in South Sudan's development. In 2013, armed conflict broke out in Juba, the capital of South Sudan. This spread to other areas of the country, gradually turning into an inter-ethnic conflict between the country’s two largest ethnic groups: the Dinka, represented by President Salva Kiir Mayardit, and the Nuer, represented by then-Vice President Riek Machar.

Nyaruach did not reunite with Jal until they met in Nairobi. They collaborated on a song called Gua, or “peace” in the Nuer language. She was 22. The song was a hit in Kenya in 2005 and a breakthrough song for Jal, who went on to become an award-winning musician and peace activist.

Jal also faced criticism for contradicting his role model status with using social media to air divisive views that stoked ethnic tensions when conflict erupted in South Sudan in 2013.

In 2015, Nyaruach traveled to South Sudan for a short visit. Upon her return, she spoke out against the violence she witnessed. Pregnant with her second child, she decided to shift to Kakuma, seeking security.

Kakuma Refugee Camp was originally established by the UNHCR in 1992 to host 20,000 Sudanese children and youth known later as the “Lost Boys of Sudan” fleeing violence during the Second Sudanese Civil War.

Today, over 56 percent of the population of Kakuma and neighboring Kalobeyei settlement are from South Sudan. At the end of January 2018, the camps hosted a total of 185,449 registered refugees and asylum-seekers.

Nyaruach said that living in a refugee camp is especially hard on women with children.

They give us firewood for a month, it finishes after seven days. We need to eat our meal, we wake up at 4 a.m. to steal. Yes, we have to steal it — and it's very dangerous. They rape us, they can even shoot and kill us. But we can't report. Who is going to report? We have no voice or authority.

Enduring years of hardship has taken at toll on Nyaruach's spirit. Reuniting and making music with Jal has felt like salvation. “I have a heart of singing”, says Nyaruach. “Jal taught me how to rhyme.”

‘Woman have no rights’

Nyaruach's song uplifts women and girls in South Sudan who she says have “no rights, no matter how young you are” in a recent interview with Kenya's The Star.

South Sudanese women are among the most marginalized, and the conflict has made conditions untenable. More than 80 percent of those who have fled the violence in South Sudan are women and children.

A post shared by Nyaruach (@nyaruachmusic) on Oct 31, 2017 at 8:23am PDT

South Sudan has gone through several rounds of failed and fragile peace negotiations, but data shows that women have been far less involved than men in the peace process, despite research that suggests including women at higher levels would improve stability.

Machar returned to South Sudan in October 2018 after two years in exile in South Africa to work with Kiir, but many are wary of the peace deal after five years of protracted conflict.

“Women in South Sudan have been treated by government soldiers and armed actors, including local militias, as spoils of the conflict”, UN investigators said in September 2018. “The plight of South Sudan’s women and girls should no longer be ignored”, they said — referring to disturbing testimonies of rape victims.

According to a 2017 survey issued by the International Rescue Committee and Global Women’s Institute, 65 percent of South Sudanese women interviewed had experienced physical or sexual violence.

Nyaruach has her own testimony.

[South Sudanese] men's ideas are changing about love. They get married to many wives and then destroy our lives. They fail to take care of their children properly. They rape us, use young girls, get us pregnant and leave us.”

Nyaruach says music is her calling. “If I hide what is killing me in my heart, what can I do to make a change?” she asks.

No wonder “Gatluak” is a hit. This is Nyaruach's chance to demand the men in her life to do better, not just in love but war — and peace.

After the Assad regime forcibly moved residents of Eastern Ghouta to northern cities, some chose to stay within Syria's borders. But others chose to cross the border into Turkey and start a life far from war, bombs and death. Of those, some planned to move further, toward cities in the European Union.

Omar (not his real name) was one of those who chose refuge in Turkey. Instability, lack of security and the continuous fighting between the opposition factions, coupled with the lack of work opportunities or possibilities for higher education, pushed him to make such a decision. The 22-year-old arrived in Idlib, in northwestern Syria among the forcibly displaced masses from Eastern Ghouta.

Around two months after arriving in Idlib, Omar and a friend decided to seek a route into Turkey. He consulted with a trafficker who had helped one of Omar's friends cross into Turkey a few days earlier. The trafficker told him to go to a district in Syria called Zarzour to negotiate the details and fees.

As they had been instructed, Omar and his friend met the trafficker at the designated location and the three agreed to cross the Turkish border that night. The trafficker asked them to wait at a specified house, but he never showed up. A few hours later, five people arrived at the house and said that the Gendarmerie (Turkish law enforcement) had caught them and ordered them to return to Syria. They added that they were part of a bigger group that had been split into two. The bigger group of eight had gone first and had been lucky to have crossed the border unnoticed. For this smaller group, it was the tenth unsuccessful attempt.

According to the story they related, their journey had started in a minivan that transported them to Adduriyah, an area adjacent to the border wall, accompanied by a guide, a person who knows the road well and communicates through a mobile phone with a monitor. The monitor, in turn, monitors the movement of Turkish forces. The group was warned that the road was rugged and that they would have to jump over a wall and walk through sewers. The journey was interrupted by Turkish forces. Three members of that group decided not to take another chance and stayed in Syria.

The trafficker showed up the following day. He asked Omar and his friend to each pay $450, the figure Omar had been given beforehand. The trafficker told them to leave everything behind, including their luggage, as the journey would be rough. Omar initially refused, but eventually caved in after the others who had experienced this journey told him that bags become an immense burden while crossing the border.

The group that set out comprised four young men and two women. They climbed a hill to the wall along the border. After jumping over, the guide told them to run non-stop. They had to pull along the women, for whom the exertion soon became too difficult. The rough road was slick with mud, which made running more difficult as their feet got stuck in the wet earth. It was also strewn with thorns and flowing with dirty sewage water. Just as they were on the verge of crossing the border, the two women could not take it anymore and began yelling and crying.

The yelling drew the attention of Turkish forces, who arrived on the scene and fired shots in the air. The guide translated what the Turkish officers said. The officers took them to a military enclosure with a watchtower, very bright searchlights and a helicopter landing pad. The sat them down on the pad, along with another group that had been caught earlier.

A soldier took pictures of each of them with his mobile phone. Their names were taken and they were kept there until 3 a.m. Every now and then they were joined by other groups of Syrians who had been caught by the Turkish forces — men and women, old and young.

At 3 a.m., in the freezing cold, the group boarded buses back to the official Turkish-Syrian crossing point —a bitter reminder of a time not so long ago when they had boarded the buses that had forcibly removed them from Eastern Ghouta to Idlib.

At the crossing point they were transported in minivans back to the trafficker's house, which was packed with Syrians waiting to escape the country. There was barely space to sleep. The loud cries of children coupled with the screams of men and women prevented Omar and his friend from getting much-needed rest.

The following day at noon, the trafficker told them they were to cross during the daytime. As they approached the border area once more, they saw Turkish forces spread all along the border. They flatly refused to attempt the crossing, and the trafficker then agreed to push the journey back to the evening.

At 8 p.m., the trafficker returned them to the same place at the border. They waited in a grove of olive trees, 200 meters from the border, where many other groups of people were also waiting to make the crossing. The guide went to scout the route and reported back that they would have to wait — until 5 a.m. Trouble started brewing among the group, and people started yelling at the baffled guide, demanding that he take them back. The guide called the trafficker and told him that the road was not clear, that Turkish forces were heavily present, and that they were firing shots in the air. They waited there for one more hour and then returned to the trafficker's house.

Omar and his companions’ morale plummetted. They were tired, as they barely slept for three long nights. But they were determined to cross the border and decided to try another trafficker. They got their money back and headed to Silkin, 30 kilometers away from Zarzour, where they waited for the new trafficker.

After a while, a young man of only 18 arrived and identified himself as the trafficker. He took them to his house and explained the escape plan. He said that the crossing would only take an hour and that the danger zone was no more than 200 meters. If they could cross this stretch, they would successfully reach Turkey. The trafficker's family was very hospitable, his mother even prayed for them. The trafficker charged them $400 each and like the previous trafficker, told them they could not take any belongings.

It was the first day of the holy month of Ramadan. They washed up and set off on their journey before sunset. The guide arrived and explained the route. They were five people, split into two groups. They first had to cross the Orontes River on a small float made of plastic bottles lashed together and stuffed into a cloth bag. They waited for the calls for Maghreb prayer as Turkish soldiers would be busy breaking their fast and eating their Iftar meal, as the monitor had instructed the guide.

On the other bank spread fields of wheat. The guide led them, crawling along the ground over mud and thorns for half an hour until they reached asphalt. Then they sprinted over the 50-meter stretch between the asphalt road and the mountain. They kept on running as the road continued up the mountain. Half an hour later, the guide stopped and told them that they had just crossed the danger zone. They caught their breath and marched their way to a Turkish village. They took shelter in a safe house, where they would wait for a car to collect them the next day.

They washed and slept in the safe house. The following day, a Turkish man arrived and asked their destination — they said Istanbul. He charged them $200. The five men got into his car. Twenty-six hours later, they arrived at their final destination.

Omar is now contemplating a plan to get to Europe. Will he risk his life yet again in search of a better alternative to life in Syria?

On November 20, the official Twitter account of the Tokyo Immigration Bureau sparked an online discussion after pinning a tweet to its Twitter profile featuring graffiti on a bridge in central Tokyo. Although the tweet was intended to speak out against graffiti, what actually caught netizen interest was the message of the graffiti itself. The words read “Free Refugees”, which many understood as tacit criticism of how the official immigration body treats refugees, undocumented workers, and others in detention.

The pinned tweet by the Tokyo Immigration Bureau includes three photos of graffiti written on the bridge with the words “FREE REFUGEES”, along with a message imploring everyone to “stop making graffiti” (落書きは止めましょう):

Found early in the morning on November 19, on the Konan Bridget. While freedom of expression is extremely important, this is public property.

Doesn't this just make you a little sad?

An accidental criticism

Until November 20, the Tokyo Immigration Bureau Twitter account typically posted anodyne tweets about office hours which generally receive few replies or retweets. However, the pinned tweet on November 20 about refugee graffiti on Tokyo's Konan Bridge received an outsized response, generating nearly 2,000 comments so far.

Japan accepts very few refugees and asylum seekers each year. In 2017, Japan granted refugee status to just 20 out of 19,629 applicants. Asylum seekers are often detained or separated from their families while awaiting a decision about their status.

The Tokyo Immigration Bureau also gained notoriety in October for participating in a television program that turned migrant raids and deportations into entertainment.

Many of the replies to the recent tweets pointed out that the graffiti was imploring the Tokyo Immigration Bureau to actually free refugees, visa-overstayers, and detainees from brutal conditions. Others criticized a Tokyo Immigration Bureau that too often mistreats and indefinitely detains refugee claimants and detainees:

In a tweet shared hundreds of times, Nagoya-based scholar Hibi Yoshitaka called out the Tokyo Immigration Bureau for seemingly criticizing graffiti that in turn criticized the bureau's terrible track record on human rights:

Just seeing this again made me so angry I retweeted (Tokyo Immigration Bureau). There is no way whoever controls the Tokyo Immigration Bureau Twitter account can be unaware of inhuman acts committed against immigration detainees.

Cloaking their true intentions and pretending to self-righteously tut-tut graffiti, even going so far as to pin the tweet to their profile page. Of course graffiti is wrong, but what about the abuse of detainees?

In his subsequent Twitter thread, Hibi went on to share a link to a variety of books and articles that explained the dire conditions for immigration detainees in Japan, including a November 5, 2018 Tokyo Shimbun article that details how 17 detainees were detained in a cell meant for 6 for 24 hours at an Osaka immigration detention facility.

Hibi also shared an article by a news organization in Nagano prefecture that explained how Japan's immigration authorities are increasingly resorting to more punitive measures such as long-term confinement to control detainees, and that the practice of detaining visa-overstayers is unofficially intended to act as a deterrent to others.

Another popular reply to the Tokyo Immigration Bureau's pinned tweet includes a link to a May 2018 news article by journalist Shiba Rei that describes conditions for Turkish-Kurd refugee claimants in detention in Japan:

Is the Tokyo Immigration Bureau completed oblivious to protests about its violation of human rights? While graffiti is wrong, it's important to recognize a violent (immigration system) that results in suicide.

Japan intends to dramatically increase the number of temporary foreign trainees in the coming years. However, since these trainees work for reduced wages, often in precarious conditions, many will likely be tempted to flee their jobs and work under the table, violating the terms of their visa.

This means many more people will likely be trapped in Japan's immigration detention system — detained for long periods of time and possibly risking death.

Lombasia, a section of Kutupalong refugee camp. Image from Instagram by the author.

The year of 2018 has witnessed some excoriating developments in the ongoing Rohingya crisis. In March, the UN Special Rapporteur on Human Rights in Myanmar described the crisis as bearing the “hallmarks of genocide”. Five months later, the International Independent Fact-Finding Mission accused Myanmar of having “genocidal intent” and of having committed crimes against humanity and war crimes. And then in October came another blow for Myanmar when the International Criminal Court decided it had jurisdiction over the crime of deportation of Rohingya from Myanmar to Bangladesh.

Rohingya advocacy groups were buoyant and dared to allow themselves to think that these developments were an indication of progress. Then suddenly, within the space of a month, the outlook for the 1.1 million Rohingya refugees in Bangladesh changed. Out of the blue, though not unexpectedly in an election year, the Bangladesh government decided to enforce the agreement on repatriation they had signed with Myanmar in January 2018.

The United Nations’ refugee agency will not provide humanitarian assistance to #Rohingya Muslims who return to Myanmar if they are interned in camps, according to an internal position paper circulated days before the initial repatriation is due to start.https://t.co/LuQqOt1e2f

This is not the first time that involuntary repatriation has been contemplated and implemented and in a context where conditions in Rakhine state, from where hundreds of thousands of Rohingya fled last year, are not favourable. This article takes a brief transect walk through the four-decade-long histories.

A tolerance for injustice

Walking around Kutupalong refugee camp, you might get an urge to dismantle the set of institutions, practices, and relationships that have created the place, because you will find it impossible to understand how people tolerate the kind of incoherence and injustice you see all around you. If you are Bangladeshi and you realise that this is part of your country, you will find it hard to conceive of the incentives or inducements that led the powers that be and various other forces to create and maintain such a place. Even if you view Kutupalong as a stage the drama of recent history is played out, you will question the sense of such repetitious and costly productions.

Pools of fetid, stagnant water dot the Rohingya refugee camps in Bangladesh. Image from Instagram by the author.

Myanmar's crimes against humanity and crimes against peace may have not yet been deliberated upon properly in international fora. But who will take into account and argue that the crimes perpetrated by Myanmar are compounded in places like Kutawpalong—a place that is supposed to provide refuge for vulnerable people?

Here in Bangladesh, there is an amazing capacity for forgetting, ignoring or bypassing what is unpleasant or inconvenient—indeed, for anything that goes against the basic tenets of humanity and international law. Let us begin with the late 70s and the first mass exodus of more than 200,000 Rohingya refugees. This is what Human Rights Watch stated in their 1996 report:

Expecting to find protection, these refugees only found further persecution by a (Bangladeshi) government that was as keen to see the back of them as their own. Over 12,000 refugees starved to death as the Bangladesh government reduced food rations in the camps in order to force them back, and following a bilateral agreement between the two governments, the majority of refugees were repatriated less than 16 months after their arrival.

You are looking at a refugee camp, at poverty, at statelessness, racism, self-interest, criminalization, exclusion, racialization, contradiction. And denial. Image via Instagram by the author.

The Bangladesh government's first defence of this action to the public and to the world at large was that Bangladesh was a poor country and could not possibly cope with such large numbers of refugees. And while the political hue of the government has since changed, the quality of discourse, reflection and policy pronouncements has not shifted in four decades. The Bangladeshi government has a single-minded resolve to return all the Rohingya refugees. Over the years, it has managed to rope UNHCR into doing its bidding by categorizing Rohingya as “economic migrants”, not asylum seekers. And so it follows that the needs and vulnerabilities of those in the camps are not of concern. These people need only be returned.

time nd time again we have seen how repatriating the Rohingya has never worked nd yet in 48 hours the #Rohingya repatriation from bangladesh starts.wen repatriation is forced nd not voluntary, it's no longer repatriation. It's refoulement. It's illegal nd a crime against humanity pic.twitter.com/ojB2qjJyh9

Surely the inability to promote an awareness of the shortcomings of this approach this stands as one of the signal under-achievements in the annals of refugee history. How, in 2018, can we still see repatriation as an objective, when all the evidence points to the fact that these cyclical influxes into Bangladesh are rooted in Myanmar's pernicious persecution and denial of citizenship to Rohingya, although they have lived in the country for generations? If returned, Rohingya refugees will again endure the cycle of murder, rape, physical torture, forced relocation, herding into camps, land and property confiscation, compulsory labour, limitations on access to education, employment, and public services, restrictions on marriage, limitation on the practise of religion, destruction of mosques, et cetera.

Skipping at dusk. There is a playing field at an elevated level in #Kutupalong #refugee camp. It is always full of activity. Lined on one side with small shops selling fizzy drinks, snacks, ciggies and paan. Image from Instagram by the author.

In the meantime, generations of stateless children are growing up in the camps in poverty, without opportunities, without any possibility of social mobility, and in conditions, no image will be able to convey. One really needs to visit the place to get a proper feel.

There is a difference between mourning and melancholia. Mourning is when one accepts one's loss and moves on. In melancholia, one does not accept the loss, which then becomes incorporated into one's being to the point where one continually remembers it.

Walking around Kutupalong, one feels melancholy, because the Bangladesh government won't have it any other way.

A #refugee camp is no place to bring up a child. In the #Rohingya camps, things are very difficult. For any age of person. The root of cyclical influxes into #Bangladesh is the denial of citizenship to Rohingya in Myanmar and the relentless persecution meted out to them. Image via Instagram by the author.

The image reads from left to right: “Those migrants will increase the levels of criminality in the country”, and “Trying to save your life in another country is not a crime”. Made by a group of NGOs, shared by the Interdisciplinary Center of Social Training and Engagement. Published with permission.

As migrant caravans from Central America make their way through Mexico, many locals have taken to social media to express their own bigotry towards migrants — often resembling the anti-immigration attitudes against Mexicans seen in the United States.

Thousands of people are fleeing poverty and gang violence in Central America and heading north, mostly by foot and often carrying small children with them. They have different destinations: many are bound to the United States — where a large-scale military operation awaits them — while others are planning to seek refuge in Mexico.

Let them call us fascists or sons of Donald Trump. As Mexicans, we have the right to defend the sovereignty of our country and the security of our families. No to the #MigrantCaravan. They should go back to their country and work there where they're needed.

Mexico has a long and proud tradition of open doors to those who have been persecuted, exiled, or victims of violence: since the Spanish Jews during the time of New Spain; the Irish who joined Mexico's defense during the American invasion; the Lebanese that fled hunger in their country in the 1920s, the republicans exiled during the Spanish Civil War and after Franco's victory. Brazilians, Argentinians, Paraguayans, Colombians, Peruvians and Uruguayans who were persecuted by the military dictatorships in their countries […] Why are there first and second class of exiles and refugees?

Other commentators have highlighted the irony of Mexicans’ online racism, as it has been mainly Mexicans who have borne the stigma brought along by Donald Trump’s immigration policies.

This meme about the migrant caravan places in front of us the racist mirror of Mexican mestizo nationalism, which has always been aspirational, longing to be white, and that for the first time in history feels threatened by migration coming from the south. I'm afraid we will have more of this in the future.

The image inside the tweet shows, on the left-hand side, an anti-migration message (“Be aware that the caravan shouldn't pass by Mexico for security reasons, as well as poverty, overpopulation, etc”), and on the right-hand side, a response defending the migrants (“We have to help them, give them employment, we're all human… How would that affect you? God bless them”). The response, however, is full of spelling mistakes, implying that those defending the caravan are poorly educated and of a lower social class.

By denying a decent and humanitarian treatment to those coming with the migrant caravan we're brought down to the same level of the xenophobic and racist governments that we've been critisizing for years. We must not fall into the trap of the anti-migrant rhetoric that is coming from the government of the United States.

“Spat out by their own countries”

This unprecedented migration wave is provoked, for the most part, by poverty and violence afflicting the Northern Triangle (the region consisting of Belize, Guatemala, El Salvador and Honduras), of which people are attempting to flee.

In an editorial dated November 3, Salvadoran outlet El Faro outlined the origins of the phenomenon — and argued that both Central American governments and the United States’ share responsibility for the thousands of people being now “spat out by their own countries”:

What are those whole families running away from, exposing themselves to a cruel route, to the territory of druglords, to sexual violence, to kidnapping, and even to threats by the president of the United States, who says he will be sending the army [to the border?] They're running away from a tyrant's repression in Nicaragua, from the delirium of a corrupted fool in Guatemala. They're fleeing from the inability of El Salvador's government, from both the ultra-rightwing and ultra-leftwing, to put an end to the homicides, the inequality and the corruption They're fleeing from the violence of gangs who have been deported by the United States, who now demand loyalty in exchange for crumbs, even when they're also responsible for the situation in the region. They're running away from oblivious elites and from decades of waiting for a future that never comes.

Those caravans hold the keys to all the problems in the region, including Mexico and the United States.[Criminalizing them] means blaming the migrants for the answers that the governments of the regions, from Managua to Washington, haven't been able to find.

Syrian civilians and fighters from the opposition getting ready to board buses during their eviction from the city of Irbeen in eastern Ghouta in the suburbs of Damascus on March 25, 2018, following a deal with the Syrian regime. Photo by Abdul Munim Issa. Used with permission.

The Syrian regime evicted residents of eastern Ghouta, forcibly displaced them from their towns and villages and sent in green buses towards rural Aleppo and Idlib in northern Syria, following a 45-days military offensive that claimed the lives of 1,650 people and wounded thousands more.

The evictions took place after a deal between the opposition and the Syrian regime, allowing the Syrian regime and its allies to seize homes and whole towns, sometimes even detaining those who remained.

The displaced masses arrived in the northern region tired, broken and burdened by years of siege and unbearable memories. They had reached the end of the road — or, more accurately — they arrived at the beginning of another journey. It was the end of daily tragedy from the siege and shelling, and the beginning of the tragedy of displacement and the difficulties of starting over.

Most of the displaced populations settled in various towns throughout rural Aleppo and Idlib. Many realized they were at a crossroad, with two main routes to choose from that would determine their future.

A difficult choice

In the north, many questions swarm the minds of newly arrived populations from eastern Ghouta: “Will we be subjected again to a siege and shelling? Will we be living in worse conditions than those we've just survived? Shall we leave to Turkey where we know nothing?”

People are confused. They could either chose to stay in northern Syria despite the tough conditions and unclear future, or they could decide to cross the border and seek refuge in Turkish towns — either settling there or starting a journey toward Europe.

Displaced Syrians do not speak the Turkish language. They must learn it to seek employment, settle and lead a normal life. But this requires time and money that nearly all lack. Most don't even have the money needed to pay smugglers who could transfer them to the other side of the border — that is, if they dismiss the risks of dealing with the deception and extremely dangerous risk of crossing with them.

Staying is tough

Samer, 29, married with one daughter, describes his family's dilemma:

I don't feel comfortable leaving Syria. I'm not comfortable staying either. I hope God avenges us from those who flipped our lives upside down and erased our future.

Mohammed, 25, cannot consider leaving to Turkey as he is the only provider for his family. Smuggling them all to Turkey would cost him thousands of dollars which he doesn't have and so he stopped thinking about it. Living in Turkey is expensive, and as the sole breadwinner, he would not be able to provide their basic needs.

Shadi, 24, a field reporter from Ghouta, says he has to stay in Syria to serve his cause and amplify the stories of his peoples’ struggles and small achievements. He wants the world to know that people never die — even when uprooted from their homeland.

Upon arrival in northern Syria, some families decide to stay within the Syrian borders and live in any one of the northern towns.

Nazir, 26, married with one daughter, resumed his work with the Guardians of Childhood, a civil society organization he used to work for in his hometown of Douma, just two weeks after his arrival. He wanted to stay in Syria to help displaced children without access to education, hoping he can rescue them from ignorance and destruction.

Niveen, 38, a mother of two and an activist, refuses to leave as well:

If we all leave Syria who will help the women and children left behind?

Niveen does not want to seek refuge in Turkey because she doesn't want to be labeled a refugee. She believes she has a mission to fulfill in Syria, and as long as staying is an option, she will stay on Syrian soil, just as she did seven years ago when the conflict began. She doesn't want to be forced to leave and waste years of her life outside Syria.

For others, the decision to stay in Syria was based on their fear of the unknown.

Nuha, 24, says that it is very difficult for her to live in Turkey where nobody understands her except through hand gestures or translation apps. She says that she prefers to stay in Syria because staying means greater chances of returning home.

Um Abdul Rahman, 49, mother of seven children, was persuaded by her children to stay because they did not want to lose their dignity living as refugees in another country.

Mahmoud, 34, married with four children, ensures that his children are attending school again. He wants them to get an education because it guarantees a good future. He wishes he could leverage his own qualifications, a bachelor in civil engineering, but this would mean going to Turkey. He could not ignore his conscience and leave his countrypeople behind, so he decided to remain in Syria, leaving refuge in Turkey as the last option, when all other hope is lost.

Ghouta's displaced populations often convene to discuss their options. They consult their friends and family because they don't want their children to grow up away from home; they also don't want them to grow up in a war-torn place. They want to forget the pain and suffering and start over, but at the same time, they don't wish to leave their country after having survived seven years of hell.

Seeking refuge beyond the border

For many, seeking refuge in Turkey or other parts of the EU is a necessary choice, having lost the ability to tolerate living in a war zone. They want to escape life-sucking sieges and live a normal life.

Moa'yad, 24, wants to hear the birds chirping again; he wants to hear music and his neighbors’ loud noises. He says he can no longer take the sound of a single bomb — not even a single gunshot.

Rahaf, 21, wants to flee the bombing, fear and futile anticipation of peace conferences that lead nowhere. She wants to escape warlords trading people's lives. She says she cannot bear the idea of living under another potential siege now that she managed to leave Ghouta.

Moa'yad is afraid of settling up north because he is unsure of what awaits Idlib — its future could be worse than eastern Ghouta's scenario. He wants to go to Turkey and live with his brother and work with him at a sewing factory until he learns Turkish and goes back to school.

Staying in Syria is not an option for Imad, 22, either.

He doesn't want to live in a place where the possibility of bombing always looms — from Russians or Iranians on the one hand or the unfair rule of various factions on the other. Imad also realizes it's impossible to finish his studies in the north because of the instability and the fact his qualifications are not recognized outside of northern Syria. For him, Turkey is the best option.

Residents of eastern Ghouta behold their vague future in fear as thousands of questions play in their heads. Yet, many fail to find a single helpful answer, since going home to eastern Ghouta is not an option — at least not yet.